Page 78 of #Lovestrong

Lena

Iwish I'd slept more last night, especially given the hours of cooking that's gone on today. Thanksgiving has never been a big thing with me and Dad, but today is the biggest production ever. Jaz and her mother got here promptly at seven with more grocery bags than anyone should ever acquire in one trip.

The three of us cooked all day while Jaz's mom refused to even so much as let Declan or my dad in the kitchen.

Setting the turkey in the center of the table just as someone knocks on the front door, Jaz's mom claps her hands. As she scurries to the door, it dawns on me there are four place settings too many.

"It's good to see you all," my dad says from the other room.

I look at Jaz, confused, but she quickly looks down at the floor. Shaking my head, we both head out to the dining room. I can't imagine who they invited.

As I round the corner, my heart stops and I can't breathe. Declan is shaking hands with Mr. Dettweiller, and my dad is hugging Camilla's mom tightly.

What the heck is going on?

"Lena, my beautiful girl," Mrs. Dettweiller says, moving around everyone and pulling me into a hug.

I gently put my arms around her, trying to swallow the air stuck in my throat. Why are they all here? Even when Camilla and Cameron were alive, we never had our families together on the holidays.

"Uh . . . what's going on?" I disentangle myself from Cameron's mother and step back, barely able to keep my chest from heaving. A panic attack is slowly creeping its way through my body, and the last thing I want is to lose it in front of everyone and ruin Thanksgiving.

"Baby," Declan says, stepping around everyone. "What's wrong?"

Hot tears hit my lips and I shake my head, the panic taking over my brain. "I'm sorry."

Before anyone can stop me, I push through the throng of adults and out the front door. Without bothering to put my shoes on, I take off down the porch and around the house, easily finding the small hidden trail that goes back into the woods. My feet beat the ground as fast as I can, shouts from the front porch echoing off the trees.

The tears come so fast, everything is blurring. I stop abruptly and drop to my knees, sobbing and squeezing my eyes shut. Just seeing their parents brings back every wonderful memory of the years I shared with Cameron and Camilla. Behind my eyelids, visions of us as kids playing in these woods assault me. Us going to the library, hiking, our first middle school dance, starting high school, Cameron's first high school football game . . . everything.

Wrapping my arms around myself and rocking, the memories of the shooting take over. The blast of bullets, the clouded look in Cameron's eyes after he was already gone, Camilla's hair sticky and damp with blood, her hand hanging off the bench, red dripping off the tips of her fingers.

I double over and scream into my arms to muffle the sounds, vaguely aware of the crunching leaves behind me. A shadow covers me before strong arms grab my shoulders and haul me across the ground before pressing my head into a wide, warm chest.

"It's alright, girl. Get it out."

Cameron's father squeezes me so tight, it's like he knows I'm falling apart and he's trying to hold me together. I sob into his chest, begging all the memories to stop replaying in my head.

I don't know how long we sit here, or when I even stop sobbing, but eventually the only echo in the space is the faint whistle of birds and the lone hoot of an owl.

I sit up enough to wipe the back of my hand across my face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make a scene in front of everyone."

"You didn't," he says, letting go of me so I can sit up fully.

I look around, expecting everyone to be standing around watching, but it's just him and I.

"I made everyone else stay at the house. Your boyfriend wasn't happy about that, but I told him this was something I knew how to handle. I don't think the rest of them do. Well, except José."

"Camilla's dad? I don't understand."

"We both have wives who lost children. Believe me, no one cares about you losing it. They did too. They still have their bad days sometimes. We all understand, kiddo."

I stare at my hands and glance at my feet, which are cut up from running through the woods barefoot. "I wish I could take their place. It should've been me."

Gently, Mr. Dettweiller cups the side of my face and forces me to look at him. My breath catches and fresh tears fill my eyes. He has the same bright blue eyes his son had, and the same dimples and smile. "No. Everything happens for a reason. Just because we don't understand God's plan, doesn't mean He doesn't have one. I miss my son every single day, but he lived an amazing life, full and happy for the eighteen years we had him. Whatever God's reason was for taking him and Camilla, and saving you, I know that's the way it was meant to be."

"But they aren't the ones who did anything to Peter. It wasn't their fault."

"It wasn't yours either. Peter did what he did for his own reasons. No one can change that. All we can do now is live the life we have, and pray for the souls lost and the remaining lives affected by one person's actions."